Defect

Defect

By Fyn Monere

Ada could feel herself weakening. The resources she had left, sparse as they were, could only sustain a living and breathing human for so long. The longer she stayed there, the longer she deliberated and waited, the greater the chances of her succumbing to the unknown. It was only a matter of time, another quickly disappearing substance.
There was also the matter of it. Ada began to pace in tight circles, nearing the sterilized edges of the counter with each revolution. Ada had realized, long ago, when it came up to the laboratory door, big eyes full of naive innocence, that it was bound to cause her problems. Still, for reasons unknown to herself, Ada had let it in and as she'd known she would, sincerely regretted it.
She needed to decide what to do.
How Ada wished someone else had been chosen for this task. It wasn't fair that this decision, a momentous one, a world changing one, had been left to Ada, the defective one. Ada's hands, curled in sinuous forms, each point sharpened against the long curves of her sunken cheeks, pushed and pulled and ripped the soft flesh into small strips of uneven blemishes.
Why her?
The warm flood of life pulsed down, through her hooks, making puddles of gentle pats. The shock of it caused Ada to stumble backwards, into a crate full of white coats and bright jumpsuits stamped with Made in the USA on the inside of their collars. The crack of splintering wood split tears in her own clothing. Ada brought her hand up to her face, attempting to slow the gush of red, the same red her mother spit into her golden hemmed handkerchief. This was no good. No good at all. Ada groaned, getting up to search for a first aid kit she could use.
Having found the bandages secured tightly in the kit, she deftly bandaged the sides of her face, giving the appearance of a mummy escaped from its crypt.
It would have to do for now.
A series of quick taps bounced off the door adjacent to her. Ada knew who it was. It came every-day at the same time, for the same reason. She moved to open the door, but hesitated at the knob. Ada wondered, should she let it in now?
Food was running out.
It was not helping the problem. It took and took without pause, never stopping to show appreciation or give back. Their frail understanding of each other survived only under the assumption of endless food and rest. She understood. Once it realized, what would it do? It tapped again, thwaps beating questionably.
What's wrong? It seemed to say. Are you going to let me in?
"No." Ada muttered, glaring at the cold entrance, hand still frozen on the knob.
"No." She whispered, lifting her hand away from the door and turning on her heel, back turned to the scratch of nails on steel.
Ada walked to her bedroom, glancing back to ensure it had not somehow infiltrated the buildings defenses. The lights casted odd shadows, full of menace and ambiguity on the dark space of her room. Notes were sprawled haphazardly, on the bed and the floor alike. When had this happened? Ada had always made sure to keep her belongings orderly, especially her notes. They held the answer to what she had yet to put into action. Perhaps it was a draft or a slight shift in the leg of the desk that pushed the notes onto the floor. But they had been tied up, neatly wrapped in black binding. There was no way that an unstable desk could unwrap those papers from its suffocating embrace.
Ada kneeled down to the floor, extending her sickly pale fingers towards the perfectly lined computer paper. The tick-tock-tick-tock of the clock above her door lulled her into a steady rhythm. Pick a paper up, organize it according to number, and file it back into the safety of its binding. Done. Ada sighed in relief, rubbing her head repetitively, feeling the prickles of an amateur cut. Her notes were organized and locked tight in the cabinet next to her bed, a small military-issued cot.
She was exhausted. Ada laid on the cot, which creaked with the sudden pressure, her eyes glazed onto the ceiling. Today's work had been, for lack of a more fitting word, difficult. Her concentration had been somewhere else instead of with her notes and experiments. She had dropped a beaker, full of a wild concoction of chemicals, causing her to rush out of the room and disinfect her equipment. Her hands had shook as the cold spray bursting from the walls had wiped clean the sickness on her suit. She had made mistakes. Terrible mistakes.
Ding dong. The chimes sounded off the late hour. Her eyes fluttered in time with the beats. Go to bed Ada, sleep Ada, wait for it to get you Ada.
Had she locked the door? Scrambling out of her trance, Ada rushed to the door handle, holding it shut while she clicked the lock into place. Ada pressed the thin cartilage of her ear to the door, listening intently. The silence pushed through, white noise buzzing on a static radio. The air was alight with tension. Ada held her breath, catching it in her throat the way one did before they plunged into a vat of inescapable terrors. She whipped her head around, searching.
There. Her desk. She could barricade the door. If she blocked the door, it couldn't get in. Ada nudged the desk with the side of her foot, edging the corner over to her. She grasped it tightly, pushing it horizontally across the entrance. Ada was safe now. She had to be. The breath she had been holding escaped her. Rubbing her head, Ada turned around, ready to lay in the swirling dreams of an idyllic world.
"Ada..."
Ada froze.
Her mother, wearing the same polka-dotted dress as the day she died, was staring at her. Her mottled skin, bulbous and thick with dead rot, hung off her body in pieces. She was hanging from the rafters, her bloody tongue sticking out in playful mockery. Red gushed from her mouth, spilling onto the floor.
"Why didn't you let me in, Ada?"
Ada screamed, a piercing ring that shocked the overwhelming quiet. Her mother continued to stare at her, eyes slack with glee. Ada ran for the door, slamming the desk into the wall. She fumbled with the lock, and having achieved that, twisted the metal knob. It gave way into the sparsely lit corridor, prompting her to sprint. Ada glanced back. Her mother was twitching, the damaged ropes slipping away from the bruises on her neck and onto the floor. Ada slammed the door, breathing heavily. She pounded her chest, willing her heart to calm down.
A muffled thump crashed inside. The ropes hadn't held. Ada was out of time. Where could she go? What could she do? She pumped her legs through the shadows of the hallway, the pulse of her blood throbbing in her head.
The screech of a door turning on its hinges echoed through the building. The dragging slap of meat on the marble floor sent chills down Ada's spine. Ada tried to drown it out, slapping her hands atop her ears.
"Leave me alone!"
"What's wrong with you?" Her mother was crawling, somehow faster than Ada could move on two legs. "Don't you care about your poor old mother?" Closer. "Don't you love me?"
Ada increased her pace, rushing towards the door leading outside. She began to hear that all too familiar noise, the scratching. It was still there, waiting for Ada to open the door, to let it consume her.
At a crossroads, there was only one outcome Ada could see for herself.
Unable to control herself, she inched her body towards the doorknob. Her hand reached out and slowly turned her fate. The scratches were suddenly louder, bordering on deafening, and her mother, with her awful screams was coming for her, so she had to open it now, now, now!
The darkness of the night shone in through the open space the door had left behind. Ada could hear the crickets chirping and the invigorating breath of a warm summer night filling her skin with humid laziness.
There was nothing there.
Only her.
Only the crickets.


Fyn Monere's fascination with scary stories and urban legends started when they were in elementary school while reading books like The Goosebumps and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. Their inspiration comes from all the stories that have managed to make them check over their shoulder in paranoia. Fyn spends their free time figure skating, playing video-games, and reading manga.